Lunch with Jeff

Photograph by Robin Johnson.

I met Jeff Olsen on March 31, 1997. He was unconscious on a gurney. Above him, in a brilliant light, stood his wife, Tamara. Her physical remains were 250 miles away, near the horrible crash that had so severely injured him.

I’d never met Tamara, but I immediately knew her. I wasn’t Jeff’s doctor; others cared for him. As they did so, the room fell quiet for me, like a muted television. Time slowed. As I looked down at Jeff, I still saw Tamara standing above and behind me because I could see in all directions at the same time. In a state of profound peace, I experienced a flood of endless knowledge.

A month later, after several operations, including the amputation of his leg, Jeff and I spoke for the first time. When he learned of Tamara’s visit to me, he wept and told me of his experience. He’d left his severely injured body and met Tamara in an infinite light above the scene of the accident.

“You have to go back and raise our son,” she’d told him.

Fourteen-month-old Griffin had passed immediately, but seven-year-old Spencer survived and needed his father. Though Jeff returned to his body, he’d never be the same. He’d learned who he was and understood why he was here.

I began my long lunches with Jeff Olsen a few months after his accident. We’ve been discussing what matters most for 25 years. Earlier this month, our lunch lasted three-and-a-half hours. I’m grateful for our friendship. I love him. He always gets it.